Breaking the Habit
by RobanCrow
Summary: In spite of how hard we try, we are never guaranteed success. Remember this before you put your life on the line. Edited June 2006.


A/N: Update. Originally written November 2004, updated (edited) June 2006. This is spawn of Breaking the Habit by Linkin Park, and my dad's birthday. It was written in part to spite him since he doesn't like reading, and doesn't feel I ought to strive for publication. But it backfired. In the best way possible. He loved it. n.n- After reading it, he started rambling about it like an excited child. Hope you like it, and sorry if it's inaccurate post-game writing. I have yet to beat Fire Emblem 7.

* * *

He had given it his all. He had trained day in and day out. The wind, once again chill, washed sheets of rain over his already drenched person. He could feel the wound pulsate as its crimson trickled nearer his chest. There were so many things he wanted to ask, but not even the most insistent of these queries could be made audible. Something was wrong, so terribly out of place. But that elusive something salvaged him from where he stood, teetering on the brink of death. His hands clenched fists of ashen soil only inches from the hilt of his cloven killing edge as his eyes followed the longhaired shadow.

* * *

One year to the day. This was the promise of a challenge the demon master of the sword had only ever dreamt of experiencing. The younger male before him had seemed so naïve when they had met, but there he stood a reformed warrior compared to the jittery wannabe he once was. He had been training, so his eyes served to say, more rigorously than ever before. He did not come with the intent of failure – not this night! To gaze upon such a wizened display, the elder master of the sword was nearly made to applaud. But instead he drew his blade.

Since the last time they had had a face-to-face encounter, the feared eastern-style broad sword had acquired an even more dominant crimson stain. This was something the eerie moonless glow in the cloud-shadowed night did not fail to show. It also did not fail to gleam across the polished surface of the opposing steel. The clarity was faltering. A light drizzle began to tap upon the earth.

A brilliant flash of light forked across the darkened sky, blinding them both. Relying on senses other than sight, the far famed of the two lunged. He had much better means of adapting to such sudden changes, giving him an upper hand. He raced with all the grace masters of the sword acquire, not hesitating for a second. The other, however, had a finesse for sidling potential strikes. Both warriors knew each other's former strengths and flaws. The dominant determining factor placing odds on their burdened shoulders was how much they had changed – and how well they could identify the changes of their opponent.

With a snarl beneath his whisper of breath, Karel turned to his unscathed foe. He lunged anew, receiving a devastating parry. Not expecting the sheer physical force Guy had strived to develop, he failed to maintain his thrust. Unfortunately for the other, this underestimation would not be made again. Karel redoubled his effort, driving Guy back in his place.

A second fork of lightning delved into the darkness. Guy had been facing opposite the flash, meaning he could strike where his master would require a moment to recover. He lunged at the other, only missing by an inch. Karel was not the naïve genre of fighter that would stand idly in recovery while his opponent was free to strike. Thus far, neither had met with the other's blade.

Guy gave it his all to change that on his opponent's behalf, lunging a second time at his blinded foe. The other was still lagging in recovery, but managed to counterstrike regardless. The echoing clash of steel on steel roared between them as thunder in time with both flashes growled along. For a moment in the darkness, both felt the obscure clarity. Soggy bangs fell limp in their faces, and their blades stuck together in parry as they stared each other down.

With a grunt, Guy heaved Karel back a number of steps and lunged to strike. At this attempt, Karel hadn't the agility to dodge and the killing edge caught his side. Luckily, it was a wound he could overlook for the moment. This was a fight to the death, and he would not allow the enemy to fell him without leaving at least one hefty scar on their person. He would, however, need a healer soon after battle should he stand victorious.

Another brilliant flash sounded only a few feet from where they fought. A large crack of thunder deafened them as a blaze sparked on the targeted tree. The fire danced from the roots and above the highest of branches. Bearing the same thought, they lunged anew at one another. Though choked by the downpour, the fire continued to burn, sweeping across the less dampened grasses of the plains. It zigzagged furiously around and between the rivals.

If either combatant lacked courage, bravery or determination, the battle would fail to continue. One, the other or both would flee to safer grounds. Neither fled. Neither would back down to the other. Karel never did. Guy had promised his all. Both lived these reputations and promises dodging flames as they continued to meet blow for blow.

Both were caught unawares as the grass burnt out. Smoke flooded from the soggy earth, leaving both short for breath. However, the battle continued. The once flaming tree was becoming naught but glowing embers. Soon the blaze of light they had would falter. They would be breathless in the dark, and only Karel was wounded. Guy knew better than to let the reality that he alone remained unscathed get to him. Karel had been wounded many times in battle. And from what his disciple could tell, it had never once altered the outcome. But why?

As if by some curse, Guy's greatest fear manifested. Only few could successfully fight whilst cornered, leaving him trapped as he parried another thrust. Of the few trees littering the plains of Sacae, his back end just happened to come across one. This left him with two options. Either he could risk sidling his opponent, making or breaking his survival, or he could continue to parry and pray his opponent weaken before he.

A tiny grating sound emitted. Guy could feel it in his palms, which could only mean one thing. The killing edge. He panicked. When was the last time he had taken it to a blacksmith? When was the last time he had inspected it for dents or scratches? No wonder Karel had an upper hand in all his bouts! He obsessed over his blade. If he wasn't battling with it, he was polishing it – repairing it! Everyone had faults. And Guy had just discovered his.

That was it, he thought. The battle was over. He could feel the tension mounting in his blade. But where he stood, pinned, he had no other defense. Any second now, the killing edge could give out. It would shatter beneath the pressure of the other blade. Karel drew back his Wo Dao. The familiar gaze of malice – that glinting lust for blood – gleamed against him as his opponent made one final lunge. Guy drew a final breath, his eyes clenched tight. "I'm sorry, Master," he murmured, helpless as the killing edge was severed clean in two, "I failed."

Startled by those words, Karel struggled against his momentum. The Wo Dao was too quick. Regardless of his efforts, the blade still grazed the younger sword master's throat. Guy's eyes stared wide at his adversary. Why had he stopped? This man – this golden-eyed demon – never failed to slay any creature that dared to stand against him. Though tiny droplets of crimson trickled nearer his chest, the wound was barely noticeable – let alone fatal.

His arms dropped. Slowly but surely they lowered to his sides. The large oak at his backside and the blade resting on his shoulder sent a convulsion through his spine. His knees felt so weak they would collapse beneath him. He struggled subconsciously to remain afoot, the hilt of his killing edge slipping from the listless grasp of his fingers.

Karel watched intently. Guy... There were so many times he had been wounded in training. So many times he turned to a resident cleric or troubadour for aid, but never had he seemed as afraid as he did in this moment. His eyes wide and glazed with tears... His lips pursing as if to speak... His chest failing to rise and fall in the hitching of terror-stricken breath... If it was not Guy's breath he heard, trembling as it passed, then it had to be his own.

Karel drew back his blade in haste. Guy was staring at him, completely breathless. There he stood. For the first time facing a defeated challenger, he shivered as though he himself had lost. He gripped at the hilt of his Wo Dao, stumbling to place a little distance between himself and his opponent. Perhaps he was feeling ill from the wound and smoke... that must have been it. Why then could he not bring himself to look his adversary in the eyes? Why could he not revel in the other's terror stricken visage as he often had?

Almost that very instant, Guy swallowed a mouthful of air. He felt so relieved, yet completely marred though he only suffered a minor wound. His knees gave out beneath him and he slumped to the ground. Both hands lunged out to catch he earth as it rushed towards him, steadying his weakened body and faint mind. Directly before him were the boots of the most powerful, most skilled master of the sword in all of Sacae.

They turned away as Karel began to walk from the ashen field. Guy wanted to call out after him, to his master, but could not make any thought audible. "I can't..." Karel choked voicelessly in response to the unspoken query, "I can't do it."


End file.
